


Tip the Scales

by AssistedRealityInterface



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Disabled Character, Disability, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Trans Male Character, not necessary to have read that if you read this though!, the sequel to Astray in Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-17 11:51:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10593435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AssistedRealityInterface/pseuds/AssistedRealityInterface
Summary: Hartley loves and trusts Cisco. This is not enough to keep the particle accelerator from exploding. It is enough to cope with the aftermath, however.





	1. Night Owl Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> Remember the sequel? It's happening! I had to put publishing it on hold to make sure I could finish it, but since I did, we're good to go! Enjoy!  
> (Trigger warnings: Hartley gets emotionally manipulated and abused by Wells-Eobard in this chapter at the opening, so skip past their conversation if you need to!)

Hartley went over the plans for the particle accelerator once, and once over again. He sat on them for an hour and thought about it, and then went right back to them, checking them for a third time. He waited an entire night to think about it, considering, before he finally had to concede one important, terrible detail.

Something was wrong with the accelerator.

Hartley sat at his desk and considered his options. One: he should tell Cisco. And he was going to tell Cisco, immediately, but the second option was the most sensible one, wasn’t it? He had to tell his mentor. He had to tell Doctor Wells. And so he would! This was perfect. They could fix this together and maybe Cisco wouldn’t even have to worry at all, maybe he could just tell him later about how he’d fixed the problem and then he would smile and call Hartley brilliant and kiss him. Perfect. Double perfect.

Hartley got up, adjusted his glasses, and went to Harrison’s office, knocking lightly on the door.

“ _Infero_ ,” he said, and Hartley smiled as he went in, sitting down across from his mentor and folding his hands in his lap. Harrison smiled in return and Hartley’s stomach was soothed, his worries skirted away by his mentor’s calm, level gaze.

“Hi,” Hartley said. “Um. I know it’s late—“

“Hartley, we’re the only two people here, of course it’s late,” Harrison said, peering over the tops of his glasses. “Shouldn’t you be going home? Or did Cisco feed the dogs tonight?”

“Oh, yes! He did, and then he was going out to a movie with Caitlin and Ronnie? Something silly. I didn’t feel up to a movie tonight, so I stayed to do a little extra work, it’s all right,” Hartley promised. “Um. Sir? We need to talk.”

“You don’t have to call me sir, Hartley, we’ve been over this,” Harrison said.

“I called my father sir, it’s not that big a deal,” Hartley shrugged. Harrison raised his eyebrows.

“But I’m not your father,” he said. “Right?”

Hartley exhaled, a low, shuddering sigh of relief. “No, you’re not. Which is why I know I can trust you, and you’ll believe me, and—“

Behind the twinkle in his eyes as he observed Hartley, something dimmed, dulled, cruel and hard. Harrison smiled to cover it up. “Yes?”

“This is bad,” Hartley said. “Really bad. And I? Um, oh my god. I’m talking just like Cisco does when he gets nervous. That’s—that’s really weird. That’s love for you. I guess? I mean. Jesus. I’m—I’m so sorry I don’t know how to say this but—but—“

He took a deep breath and blurted out, “There’s a problem with the particle accelerator!”

There was a long silence. Harrison kept count of the seconds, watching Hartley’s expression change, subtle tics towards fear and panic. He leaned in, brows raised. “What kind of problem, Hartley?”

“Um. Like. Bad. World-endingly bad. Like, big deal kind of bad, and I—I don’t know how! I checked all my equations, it should all be perfect, and I know no one else on the team messed anything up so I don’t understand, but we have to halt production immediately until we figure out what went wrong so no one gets hurt? And—“

“Hartley,” Harrison said, getting up. He saw Hartley flinch and bit back a smile. “How busy have you been lately?”

“Um,” Hartley blinked. “What?”

“You’ve had therapy appointments with your parents twice weekly, which I’m sure has destabilized you emotionally,” Harrison continued, “and you’ve recently moved in with your partner—“

Hartley paused there, for just a second. The way the word slid over his ear sounded wrong, like his mentor was speaking of Cisco with _contempt,_ but that couldn’t be right. Couldn’t. He’d picked Cisco. He’d. He?

“And been pulling plenty of all nighters—case in point, the two of us night owls sitting here speaking at all,” Harrison moved on, like he hadn’t noticed Hartley’s brief pause, “which has weighed on you, hasn’t it?”

“I mean, I’m tired, yes, but,” Hartley admitted, rubbing the side of his face. “I triple-checked everything and waited a whole day to mull it over before presenting it to you—“

“A whole day?” Harrison said, raising a single eyebrow. “With so much at stake? You said so yourself. I’m shocked, Hartley.”

His stomach hurt. Hartley swallowed. “Right. Of course. I’m so sorry. It was foolish. I just—wanted to be sure the problem was real.”

“And I promise you as head of the project that it’s not,” Harrison said. “You’re tired and stressed, Hartley. You’ve worked so hard. Let yourself take a break, and I will finish the final proceedings of the accelerator.”

“I mean,” Hartley said, “I know, but—but I can’t take a break until I know nothing’s going to go wrong, sir. If it does, what about—what about STAR Labs, and—and—“

Harrison sat back down. Somehow, this was worse. Something wet and greasy curled in Hartley’s chest, smothering his lungs with panic, filling his chest with pressure. His legs went numb, and he was rooted to his spot, awaiting punishment.

“All right,” Harrison said. “If you insist. Let’s go over the consequences here. If you’re right, then Cisco’s career is ruined. It’s him you’re worried about, isn’t it? Because you could go back to Rathaway Industries once your parents calmed down. But you couldn’t possibly hire an engineer with this kind of black mark on his record without cries of nepotism. Cisco would never be taken seriously or treated well again, by anyone, your parents included. And I doubt he’d love anyone who tried to lie or cover up for him like that.”

“Yes, sir,” Hartley said softly. “He wouldn’t, sir. You’re right, sir.”

“And he’s the only one you’re worried about, despite hundreds of employees?” Harrison’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “Selfish.”

“It is, sir. You’re right, sir,” Hartley said. “Sorry, sir.”

There was a pause. Hartley’s heart shoved at the grimy fear clogging his lungs and he forced out, “But—people could _die._ I know that! What if people die?”

“No one is going to die if the damn thing doesn’t turn on,” Harrison shrugged. “But, if we decide to halt production here, then we lose our investors’ trust—investors, I may remind, your family arranged for us. And thus, there goes our funding. There goes Cisco’s job. And good luck pursuing anything new at Rathaway Industries without your own investors.”

Hartley’s vision was blurry with panic. He could see clearly, sure, but nothing was really _registering,_ his whole mind under a haze of fear that clouded every sense he had. There was a persistent whine in his ears, like his nerves were trying to scream for him.

“I assure you, everything is fine,” Harrison said, “because we both know that if everything _wasn’t_ fine, the consequences would be dire. Wouldn’t they? After all—“

“But if it’s broken, we have to fix it,” Hartley said softly. “That’s all I meant. That we should fix it before it becomes a problem, before people get hurt—“

Harrison slammed his hand on his desk. The only thing keeping Hartley from yelping in fear and bolting backward was generations of good breeding.

 _Don’t make a scene,_ his mind reminded him, _even if you’re in big trouble now, young man._

Still. He was so scared. His tummy hurt. He wanted to be home with his puppies and his cats and Cisco and something warm in the oven—

 _Quit being a sniveling little pansy and take it like a man, Hartley James,_ his father’s voice rumbled from deep within him. _This is your fault anyway._

“Hartley,” Harrison said, “you’re overreacting. And by overreacting, you’re putting lives at risk. You’re putting Cisco’s career on the line. And you are trying. My patience.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hartley whispered. “I should have known. I’m so sorry.”

They lapsed into silence. Harrison waited, watched Hartley’s face until he could see tears slowly start to bead up along his eyelids. Took him long enough.

“Of course,” Harrison said. “I understand. You simply need help and guidance every so often. And discipline. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes sir,” Hartley said to the floor.

“Then that’s why I’m here,” he said, picking up some paperwork like nothing had happened. “Go home, Hartley. Nothing’s wrong. Or don’t you trust me to ensure that?”

“I do, sir, I—“

“Then you can rest easy,” Harrison said, cutting him off and turning back to his work. Hartley nodded, getting up, forcing himself to move to the door, and—

“Oh, and Hartley?”

“Yes?”

“We’re still on for chess tomorrow at ten, aren’t we?” Harrison said, his eyes warm, sparkling. “It’ll be a little celebration of all our hard work finally coming to fruition. Won’t it?”

“Yes,” Hartley said, his hand shaking as it slipped on the doorknob. “Yes, of course.”

He left the office, his head swimming, and drove home. He barely paid attention to the road—the only thing keeping him from an accident, to be frank, was luck and muscle memory. He pulled in through the gate, pulled up to his house, and entered through the garage.

There was a beat of silence, before all his and Cisco’s pets started to bark and squeak in delight, realizing he was home. Olga reached him first; Hartley sat down so she could climb into his lap, held his dog close, and started to cry.

She licked at his tears, her paws braced on his shoulders, nosing and nuzzling, her tail wagging, as Ranger laid his broad muzzle on his master’s shoulder, his whip-tail whirling in concern.

“It’s all right,” Hartley said, his voice clogged by mucus and tears. “Good boy. Good girl. Good puppies. God—“

He looked up. Meowth and Nyota were sitting on the kitchen island, peering down at him with concern, and they looked so similar to Cisco and Caitlin in that moment that he had to laugh, his chest weak, shaking. Still, it was Ringo who climbed up into his lap, his chubby, soft body vibrating with the force of his purr, like if he shook hard enough his favorite person would stop being sad. Hartley wound his hand through his ginger fur and rubbed his belly.

“You’re so good to me,” he said. “All of you. Why don’t we just. Go to bed? And wait for Cisco, hmm?”

At the sound of their other human’s name, all of the pack seemed to be in agreement, trotting off for Hartley and Cisco’s bedroom. All save Ringo, who laid out over Hartley’s thighs in such a manner that demanded Hartley pick him up and carry his lazy furry behind to bed. Hartley had to crack a smile as Ringo frisked his tail.

“You’re such a baby,” he said, hefting Ringo into his arms, supporting his bottom half and letting Ringo hook his claws into his forearm. “But I am too, aren’t I? I’m crying because I made a mistake. Right?”

Ringo mewled as Hartley edged his bedroom door open and stared at the bed he shared with Cisco.

“You know,” he said, mostly to himself, though Ringo’s ears swiveled with interest, “I used to make my bed every morning. Nice and neat and starch-stiff. You could’ve run a toothbrush over it with no flaws found. But now…”

He trailed off and looked at the messy covers, the wrinkled pillowcases and stuffed animals Cisco insisted on keeping in bed strewn about on both sides. He watched the pack make themselves comfortable amidst the chaos and snuggle down for the night. Hartley set Ringo down to do the same and ran a hand over his quilt. It was a gift from his mother’s friend, some Paris art bigshot—Hartley had no idea how much it cost, which meant too much, and there it was, sprawled over the bed like a sleeping drunk, wrinkled and loose.

“Ah,” Hartley said, smiling. “But it looks so much more comfortable this way. Doesn’t it?”

Ringo agreed, rolling over to get hair on an as-yet un-furred spot of the blanket. Hartley stripped down to his briefs and socks before scooting Ringo aside and wrapping himself up in the blanket, closing his eyes and breathing it in.

Somehow, it smelled of Cisco—sweet bread, coffee, and sticky sugary candy, and so Hartley dozed, half-awake. His mind churned with anxiety, too much to sleep, but just enough to slip in and out of fearful dreams, focused on the singular terror of Cisco dying, leaving him, dying _and_ breaking up with him—it was, after all, a dream—until the man himself was leaning over Hartley and shaking him awake gently.

Hartley gasped, scrambling upright, whimpering in panic until Cisco whispered, “ _Príncipito, it’s me,”_ and he almost cried in relief. Hartley threw his arms around Cisco and was rewarded with a kiss to his forehead before Cisco took his glasses off for him.

“Dude, I told you about falling asleep in these,” Cisco said, folding them up and putting them on the night stand. “You’re on my side of the bed, by the way. Miss me?”

“So much,” Hartley said, and Cisco’s next joke sputtered out in his throat. He just nodded, scooting Hartley over so he could cuddle him.

“Cisco?” Hartley said. “You worried about the accelerator?”

“What? No,” Cisco yawned. “I’m so excited! We’re gonna be the best freaking sciencers in the world.”

“Sciencers?” Hartley teased. Some of his panic receded in the face of Cisco’s enthusiasm, Cisco’s hands alight as he pulled the blankets up and snuggled closer.

“Sciencers sounds cooler,” Cisco yawned. “Like wizards or necromancers or Jedi or something.”

“Okay,” Hartley said. “Then there’s nothing to worry about. Go to bed?”

“Mm, it’s late,” Cisco sighed. “Tell you ‘bout the movie tomorrow. Love you.”

“Love you too,” Hartley said, and watched Cisco fall asleep curled against him. He did not think of that morning, or the accelerator, or his mentor. In fact, he was so concerned with not thinking about anything at all that he didn’t sleep, staring at the night sky, consumed with forgetting.

This was good for one thing, and one thing only; Hartley was treated to the sight of Cisco awakening by degrees. He made small noises when he slept, his lips parting, a little rush of breath, a half-mumble, a milky dreamy thing that made Hartley smile, his lips tingling in response, itching to be pressed against Cisco’s, to breathe all that light and warmth in.

Once he stopped, his eyelids would begin to flutter; quick, shivering, his eyelashes casting long shadows along the top of his cheekbones. His little dreamy murmurs would be replaced by his pretty white teeth, his jaw creaking as he yawned, wide, and shook his head, his eyes opening. Hartley reached down wordlessly and undid the bun he put his hair into, to keep it from getting tangled and in his face, and ran his hand through the messy locks.

“Mornin’,” Cisco said, his voice a burbling creek running over stones, heavy and trickling with exhaustion. “Sleep?”

“You can have five more minutes if you need them,” Hartley promised.

“No, dude,” Cisco sighed. “You sleep okay? You look.”

He gestured, vague and big. “Pensive?”

“It’s too early for words like pensive,” Hartley said, and Cisco gave him a look.

“You’re the one making complete sentences.”

Hartley didn’t argue. He stroked Cisco’s shoulder, running his fingers down his arm, his side. Cisco shifted a little to accommodate Hartley’s touch more thoroughly.

“I’m fine,” he lied. “Just worried. You know. Fussy.”

“Fussy,” Cisco mimicked, lifting himself up just enough to put his head in Hartley’s lap. “Like you fussy.”

Hartley wrinkled his nose and smiled. “Really? You used to think it was ridiculous. That I was petty and mean.”

“Yeah, well,” Cisco sighed, “used to think a lot of stupid things. So did you. Right?”

“Right,” Hartley agreed. “Cisco? I—I’m. I’m. Scared.”

“Of?”

“I don’t know,” Hartley said.

He did. He did know. Or rather, he _felt_. The fear sat in him like a beast at the end of its cave, hateful, bristling snarling, curled up on itself all claws and teeth, and pulling it out and freeing himself was going to be a hell of a thing.

He spoke seven languages. He had at least nine different ways to tell Cisco what was wrong, what he was afraid of, but he just repeated, “I really don’t know. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

“I don’t mind,” Cisco said, but his eyes were cloudy, and though he lapsed into silence afterwards, getting ready for work and sitting shotgun while Hartley drove, he didn’t forget. He drew inward, watchful, wakeful, and pulled Caitlin aside as soon as they had a moment to spare.

“Is this important?” Caitlin said. “We’re putting the finishing touches on everything today Cisco, and—“

“Lunch break,” Cisco said. “You and me and no one else. Please.”

“Oh Jesus, are you okay? Did you have an argument with Hart? Cisco—“

“No, no! No, it’s—“ Cisco shook his head. “C’mon. Let’s just. Go have fun, hey? Go out and celebrate! Right?”

Caitlin blinked, brow furrowed, but Cisco _knew_ , you were never safe as long as somebody was around to hear you and twist your words around later because he wasn’t _stupid_ he’d _survived_ and he was safe now. He was safe now and he didn’t have to hide anymore. Didn’t have to creep around and lie and use the wrong words.

But, old habits die hard, and perhaps it was for the best, really, just this once, because who should round the corner but Harrison Wells, smiling at his two protégés, like nothing in the world could be wrong except the galloping feeling of panic in Cisco’s chest, racing through him like horses alongside a river.

“Morning, Doctor Wells,” he said, his voice soft, his eyes fixed firmly on his nose. No eye contact today. Hadn’t been a problem before. Harry had been safe before. And now. No.

“Cisco, morning, Caitlin,” he greeted them, “Ronnie was looking for you, dear. Cisco? Would you mind getting me the latest design specs from Hartley’s desk? He and I are going to go over a few things, play chess, work our minds some.”

“Of course not,” Cisco said, and glanced at Caitlin. There was a beat, but she nodded. His shoulders slumped slightly as they broke apart and Cisco went for Hartley’s desk, pausing for a second to take it in.

He’d prided himself on the neatest desk in the lab before, and he’d said as much—usually while adding some comment about how messy Cisco’s figurine-strewn, takeout-laden, picture-covered disastrous hurricane of a desk was, and now Cisco was staring down at the picture-covered disastrous hurricane of Hartley’s own desk.

It was all pictures of him and Hartley at some bar after work, or with Caitlin and Ronnie, and dozens of pictures of the pack—Olga sitting in his lap with two mini tennis balls barely fitting in her mouth, Ranger with a fallen branch he was happily dragging through the dog park, Ringo asleep in a sunbeam, Ringo asleep with some of Cisco’s stuffed animals stacked on his head, Ringo asleep on top of Hartley, content and fat, Meowth napping in her favorite spot, Nyota on the counter she was expressly forbidden from sitting on, and—

So many pictures of Cisco. Just—just tons of them? They weren’t even framed, half of them, he’d just taped them to his desk, and he wasn’t even _here_ anymore lately, he was in Harrison’s office or in the accelerator itself or some squirreled away part of the lab just—working? Not here. And yet.

Cisco’s stomach fluttered as he reached out and grabbed the binder with PARTICLE ACCELERATOR scribbled across the front in hasty marker, and in his rush he knocked over—

He lifted up the little figurine—a gashapon he’d gotten from the toy store on his last visit, and he’d had doubles of the character already so he’d just set it aside and forgotten it. “Here you are,” he said, a little smile on his face. “Color me surprised.”

He set the figurine down and chuckled. “Didn’t think tsunderes were Hartley’s type, but okay.”

The panic had mostly dissipated by the time he reached Harrison’s office, replaced with the sweet smoky swirls of love clouding his vision, making his head and heart flutter as he opened the door. “Hart? Doctor Wells? I—“

Hartley looked up first, and it was strange, really. Cisco had been friends with Caitlin for much longer than he’d been dating Hartley, and he still couldn’t read her face. Not unless it was _urgent,_ or _big,_ or _dangerous._ And this—this was subtle, so subtle maybe Hartley didn’t even see it, or know he was sharing it, but Cisco knew.

“I brought the stuff,” Cisco said. “Um. Thank you.”

“For?” Harrison said, brows raised. Cisco bit back his response and shook his head.

“Um, sorry, babbling, it’s fine—here you go, I—“

He set the binder down between him. He felt something shift between the three of them, and for a second, Harrison’s hand brushed his side.

“I’m gonna go help Ronnie, see you later, bye,” Cisco said, his heart thumping under his binder, his chest shrieking in protest. “Hart? Love you.”

It didn’t make the look go away. It didn’t fix anything, it didn’t change anything, but he still smiled, and Cisco’s heart _hurt._ “ _Te amo, mi alma.”_

Cisco nodded and left, shut the door, and waited outside for as long as he could. There was no sound inside the office. Whatever was going on was all internal, and he _hated it._

There was nothing he could do about it, true, but he could do something else—his job, and while he did, he could maybe get some answers. Cisco shook his head, pulled his hair up, and went to find Ronnie.


	2. At a Glance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cisco talks to his friends about Hartley and gets a new perspective. Not that it changes much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! Sorry, finals are upon me, and I appreciate everyone's patience; I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's another long one!

“Dude! What’s up?” Ronnie said, beaming broadly the second Cisco stepped into his workspace, sitting on his desk. “You okay?”

“Do I look bad?”

“Honestly, you look like you just got punched in the brain, dude,” Ronnie said, brows furrowed. “Like, tired and stressed as shit. Hart keep you up or something?”

“No! No, I mean—“ Cisco rubbed his temples. “Hart? Right. Ronnie, can I ask you some stuff about him, actually? And Harrison?”

“Yeah, I mean…” Ronnie shrugged. “It was weird when he came, I think. Hartley was—well, you know him. He’s dumb and prideful and he reminds me of Caitlin, kind of. Doesn’t want help from his parents and wants to be worth the company chair he’s gonna inherit, so he stalks in here and demands the doc hire him.”

Cisco had to laugh. “Yeah, sounds like Hart. Did he just hire him right then and there?”

Ronnie shrugged. “Kind of. Harry just laughed and they had a seat, and they played chess? Which makes no sense to me, actually. But they played for an hour, and Hart put him in check, and Harry said, okay that’s enough. And they just sorta looked at each other and laughed and Hart said something in Latin and when Harry replied in Latin Hart got the most ridiculous look on his face, and—“

Ronnie gestured. “Kinda like when you came, actually. Only he looked at you like that all the time.”

“Did he?” Cisco said, his voice vague, his thoughts muddled. Ronnie nodded.

“Dude, constantly. You never noticed?”

Cisco shrugged. “Um—“

“Right, sorry! You’re bad with that stuff, Cait said,” Ronnie amended. “Sorry, Cisco. I forget sometimes. But like, I knew Hart before, kind of, and so did Cait? And he never acted that way around anyone else.”

“But Harrison?” Cisco pressed. “I’m sorry, it’s—“

“You worried?” Ronnie shook his head. “Dude, I promise, Hart would never—“

Cisco gasped, grabbing at the desk. “ _What?_ Oh my god? No! Shit! No, that’s not—I would never? Never ever ever! It’s not that, it’s—“

He flapped his hands and shook his head. “Never. Ever. I just. Ronnie. It’s. Bad. Please?”

Ronnie paused, considered, looked him up and down. “You’re worried about Hartley?”

“He—“ Cisco shook his head again. “I don’t know. He wasn’t sleeping. I don’t like the look in his eyes. He’s not lying to me. He’s not _cheating_ on me. I know him. So I know there’s. A problem. And. I?”

“Oh, Jesus,” Ronnie sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Dunno if this’ll help, but sometimes Cait…”

He came over and sat on the desk next to Cisco, looking up at the ceiling. “You know, Cait’s mom is a real bitch. And you didn’t hear that from me, ‘cause Cait still thinks she’s got some sort of justification for being as mean as she is, because Cait doesn’t ever stop loving a person, even after she gets hurt.”

He looked down and worried at his lip. “And like, I think sometimes if I hurt her, she would still love me. And that scares the shit out of me. If I ever hurt her, I wouldn’t deserve her love, you know? But I think she’d give it. And all that does is make me want to love her more, and be as good to her as I can, so she never has to worry about something like that. So I don’t end up like her mom.”

“You’re right,” Cisco said, quiet. “But you won’t, Ronnie.”

“No, I know! I know. I mean. It’s—“ Ronnie gestured. “You know how I said Cait and Hart are totally similar? That’s one of their things, dude. Hart doesn’t ever stop loving a person. I mean, his family made him feel like garbage and he still went back. He’s going to therapy with them! I’d just—I’d just punch his dad in the mouth! But I’m not…”

He trailed off. “You know? He and Cait are just like that, Cisco. I don’t even wanna call it loyalty. It’s way deeper, but way worse. It’s like…”

“Shouldn’t hold onto a rose if all you have left are thorns,” Cisco said. Ronnie blinked.

“Poetic, man.”

“It’s from a movie,” Cisco mumbled, his face hot. Ronnie laughed.

“Right! But it’s true. We have to be careful with them. And we gotta make sure they don’t get hurt. Right?”

Cisco searched his face and knit his brows. There was no good answer here. Well, no simple one, at least, not about Harrison or Hartley or anything, but there was one big truth sitting right there and he could grab onto it. That was the good thing about Ronnie, really. Everything with him was so simple and easy.

“Yeah,” Cisco said. “We gotta keep them safe.”

“Hell yeah!” Ronnie said, laughing, and just like that the only thing in the room was his wide smile and his bright eyes as he gestured at the tangle of machinery in front of him. “Can you help me with this, dude? It’s not about the accelerator, but it’s an old project of Cait’s. I wanted to help her out with it, so she’s got one less thing to worry about before the wedding.”

“Of course,” Cisco agreed, pushing himself up off the desk and examining the machine in front of him while Ronnie held the blueprints up and compared them to the state of the progress already made. They managed to work until Caitlin came in and knocked on the door, making them both jump.

“Hey!” Ronnie said, gathering himself up to come over and kiss her lightly, nuzzling noses with her as she grinned.

“Hi, handsome,” she said. “You two okay back here?”

“Yeah, ‘sup?”

“Lunch break,” Caitlin said. “Cisco and I are gonna go grab a bite.”

“Can I come?”

“Nope, sorry,” Caitlin said, grinning. “Wedding plans. I have dress pictures and you can’t see them until I’m wearing them.”

“What? Oh, come on,” Ronnie grumbled, wrapping his arms around her. “I wanna see your dress.”

“You can when I pick it,” Caitlin promised. “Love you, pumpkin.”

“You too, cupcake.”

Cisco groaned and Caitlin gave him a look. “You shut your mouth, Hartley has a different pet name for you every day of the week!”

“Hey, that’s his business, not mine,” Cisco protested as they left.

“Oh, my mistake, _príncipito.”_

“Your pronunciation is terrible, and also, shut up.”

Ronnie watched them both walk away until Caitlin turned around and beamed at him. He beamed back, waving, and went back to work once she was gone with a new lightness in his chest.

…

Cisco gave himself a few bites of burger before blurting out, “I’m worried about Hartley. And not because he’s cheating on me, he’s not, Ronnie already asked, I don’t know why everyone thinks I’d worry about that—“

“Fair, he’s been goggle-eyed for you since the second you got hired,” Caitlin admitted, and Cisco laughed.

“Right? I mean, I guess so. Everyone says so and I do believe them. It’s just. It’s not that. I mean,” he chewed his lip, adding, “he’s not. Himself. Lately, I mean he’s just kind of—tense? Afraid. Not distant, but scared and he won’t tell me why.”

“You think he’s worried about the accelerator?”

“He’s asked me if I was,” Cisco considered, tilting his head to the side slightly, brow furrowed. “Maybe? He’s got a lot riding on this.”

“We all do,” Caitlin said, “but yes. The whole reason he came here was to prove to his parents that he was worthy of the company chair position. And given all his current issues with coming out and them being just the most homophobic assholes—“

Cisco quirked an eyebrow. Caitlin smiled. “Sorry. Right, but your parents are the most transphobic. Unless Hartley’s parents are—“

“I mean,” Cisco shrugged, “no worse than mine. At least they use my name, but that’s because Hartley won’t tell them my dead one under pain of death.”

“So it might just be his parents, and pressure, and stress,” Caitlin said, “but you think it’s more than that, or you wouldn’t have wanted to talk alone.”

Cisco nodded. “Precisely, my dear Watson.”

“Cisco.”

“What?” Cisco huffed. “I mean. Caitlin? Before I showed up, how was Doctor Wells around Hartley?”

“Oh,” Caitlin said. “Hmm.”

“I’m not like, I don’t think they’re, like, having an affair or something? I just,” Cisco sighed through his teeth. “I saw them playing chess together this morning and something was bad. I didn’t like the look on Hartley’s face.”

Caitlin nodded. “Right. Well, I mean…the thing with Hartley is, he and his dad are kind of. You know.”

“I know,” Cisco agreed. Caitlin had a sip of her milkshake, considering.

“I mean, we know, and I think Doctor Wells knows, but Hart doesn’t know,” she said. “And even if he realizes he’s looking for a father figure, he’s never going to admit it. But…”

She frowned. “You think Doctor Wells is taking advantage of that? He’d never. He was the one who looked after Hart, and I think he even counseled him about his sexuality? And just—was there for him and gave him advice and made him feel better? Because he came out to all of us before he ever told his parents. That takes a lot of trust, Cisco.”

“I know,” Cisco said, “that’s why I’m worried.”

Caitlin paused, and they both considered this. Well—Cisco had already reached his conclusion. Parents were just like that. So anyone who tried to be your parent was probably also going to be like that, in his experience. But Caitlin—

Cisco sighed. “I know. I know, I know, I know. I’m not saying I think he did anything wrong, or bad. I just don’t know what to think anymore, period.”

“Okay,” Caitlin said. “Yeah. Makes sense. Um. I don’t either, to be honest. If you’re worried, I’m worried, but…”

“We don’t know what to be worried about?” Cisco said. Caitlin nodded.

“Talk to Hartley tonight, see if you can get something out of him,” she said. “If we’re gonna keep worrying, we’ve got to have a reason. Right?”

“Right,” Cisco said. “I will, I promise.”

Another silence passed. Cisco handed Caitlin a French fry when she ran out of ones to stick in her milkshake. “Dude. You gonna show me those dress pictures or what?”

“Oh! Right, yeah, here,” Caitlin beamed, opening up her phone and showing Cisco the things she’d screencapped and examining one of the dresses with a hard look. “Okay, on second thought, this one makes me look like a cupcake. Here, try this one?”

Cisco relaxed, let himself focus on poofy white dresses and silly wedding themes—he suggested decking the reception hall out like it was the Enterprise, and was promptly shot down, as well as his next suggestions of “the Thunderdome, but with fancy gift baskets,” and “the deck of the Titanic but _after_ it sank.” It made Caitlin laugh, and for a brief few minutes it let Cisco forget how worried he was.

It didn’t last, naturally; he went back to work and Hartley was gone. Caitlin put a hand on his shoulder. “Probably working inside the accelerator, Cisco. Why don’t you help him?”

He nodded, and did—well, would have, but when he got inside the workings of the accelerator, Hartley wasn’t there. Cisco just shook his head and dove into the machinery, trying to push everything away but the wires and switches directly in front of him until he heard his voice.

“Cisco? Hey. It’s late. Can we head home?”

Cisco lifted his head up. “Hart? Where’ve you been?”

“Um, running simulations and—it’s not important,” Hartley said. “You’ve been working so hard. I think we’ve done all we can do. Come home with me? Please?”

“Of course, hey, hold on,” Cisco said, climbing down from his workspace. “Caitlin showed me dresses today. You know, for the wedding.”

Hartley managed a small smile. “Is that right? Cute.”

He took Cisco’s hand in his and squeezed it. “C’mon, let’s go out the back. I already have the car waiting.”

“Don’t we want to say goodnight to Cait and Ronnie?”

“They already went home, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t find you,” Hartley lied. He didn’t know if they had or hadn’t and didn’t care. “Please?”

“Okay, okay,” Cisco promised, letting Hartley lead him up and out of the accelerator, down through a side corridor and out the exit, cool air rushing over him and night welcoming him outside. “You’re in a rush. Miss me?”

“Yes, it’s,” Hartley shook his head. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. Tell me about Cait’s dresses?”

“Oh, she wants to do something short and simple, but I talked her into a fancy tiara by reminding her she’s Ronnie’s princess, so,” Cisco faked gagging before he grinned. “It’s super cute, though, and I just want her to look a little fancy. You know?”

“Right,” Hartley agreed, getting in the car. His hands slipped as he tried to start the ignition and he swore, slamming his palm on the wheel. Cisco jumped, cringing in his seat. Hartley grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I scared you—“

“It’s okay,” Cisco said, his voice soft. He reached out and rubbed Hartley’s hand, his thumb brushing his knuckles. “Hey. Stressed?”

“Yeah,” Hartley said. “Um. Right. I just…we should cook tonight. I want to stay in the kitchen.”

“Okay, but you better not let Nyota up on the counter, I saw those pictures,” Cisco warned. “She’s a thief, Hart! She took a whole sushi roll off the counter once! A whole _roll_! And it was tuna! And I love tuna!”

“Sushi grade tuna is still full of mercury, it’s not safe for her to eat,” Hartley tutted. Cisco stuck his tongue out.

“Um, I totally took it from her, duh, but I wasn’t gonna eat it with all her cat germs on it,” he said, and Hartley laughed as they drove away, loosening the knot of concern in Cisco’s stomach.

“She’s just crafty, that’s all, but I won’t let her do it anymore,” he promised, knowing he would as soon as she played cute with him. “You saw those pictures?”

“Yeah, this morning,” Cisco said. “I have some of that time we went to the fancy dog park in your parents’ neighborhood you could have, if you want?”

“I would,” Hartley sighed. “You’re so good to me.”

“I try,” Cisco said. “So. Dinner? What’re we doing?”

“Oh, fuck, I have no idea what’s in the fridge,” Hartley admitted. “Waffles?”

“You just really like that fancy-ass waffle iron I don’t know how to use.”

“I do, it’s my baby,” Hartley grinned. “Okay, okay. You have any better ideas?”

“Burgers.”

“You _always_ want burgers, you have to watch your heart, red meat’s not good for you—“

“Oh, I’m sorry, are we sixty years old now?”

“You’re not gonna _make it_ to sixty if you have a burger every three days!”

“You—you’re not gonna—you’re oppressing me!”

They both laughed, and Hartley rubbed the side of his face, grinning, turning to look at Cisco once they’d stopped at the security gate. “Hey. I love you. Let’s just eat whatever we can find and not worry about anything tonight, okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” Cisco said. “Love you too.”

He didn’t bring this morning up, he didn’t bring Wells up, he didn’t bring the accelerator up, he didn’t talk about anything but Caitlin’s wedding and the movie they’d seen last night until it was late and they were both standing in the shower before bed, Cisco’s arms wrapped around his waist, his chin on Hartley’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he murmured, “I’m worried about you.”

“You are?” Hartley said, running a soapy hand over his back. “Do tell.”

“You just seem afraid,” Cisco said. “And I don’t know how to help you because I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Hartley considered. Cisco squeezed his hands a little where they rested on the small of Hartley’s back. They remained like that for awhile, Hartley counting his breaths and holding onto Cisco.

“I don’t know how to tell you yet,” Hartley admitted. “I’m sorry. You’re right, something’s wrong, but give me some time to figure out how to explain it. Okay?”

“With me?” Cisco mumbled.

“No, no. You’re wonderful,” Hartley promised. “Not you. I promise, it’s not because I’m mad at you, or anything like that.”

He sighed, letting Cisco play with the shower jelly he’d bought him, squishing it against his back. It was gold and slippery and smelled like lemons, and it made Cisco grin against Hartley’s skin when he squeezed it.

“Oh! It split up in my hand, shit,” Cisco mumbled, the pieces falling to the floor. Hartley hummed.

“Buy you a new one,” he promised as the soap bubbled in the drain. “Buy you two more. Buy you the whole store, hey?”

“Hartley,” Cisco sighed, smiling. “Okay. But only if I get to buy you another figurine for your desk.”

“Ah! Oh my god, you saw that?” Hartley said, his face pink. “I’m sorry, if you want her back—“

“Ssh, I’m glad you love her,” Cisco murmured, “but do you even know what show she’s from?”

“Are you gatekeeping me? You loser nerd,” Hartley snorted, running his fingers through Cisco’s wet hair as Cisco turned the shower off.

“Well?”

“You suck,” Hartley grumbled. “ _Steven Universe?”_

“Dude! Hell yeah! Proud of you,” Cisco said, squeezing his hand. “She’s named Pearl, actually. I’m glad you like her, which is funny, because she reminds me of you, like, a lot.”

“Doesn’t her girlfriend die?”

“Complicated.”

“Okay, but don’t die,” Hartley insisted. “Cisco?”

“I promise, I promise,” Cisco said, nuzzling Hartley’s neck.

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Hartley clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Come to bed with me?”

“Like, to bed, or _to_ _bed?”_

“We’re making the pack sleep outside, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Ooh,” Cisco grinned, nuzzling Hartley’s neck. “Okay. Neato burrito.”

“Don’t say that when I’m about to fuck you,” Hartley sighed, kissing his forehead and smiling. “Cisco?”

“ _Príncipito?”_

“I’d do anything to protect you,” Hartley promised. “I mean that. I’d burn down the whole fucking accelerator if it kept you safe. Anything it takes. Okay?”

“I mean, you almost Panama Papers’d the hell out of your parents just to have some leverage over them so you could stay with me, so like, I totally believe you,” Cisco agreed, hugging Hartley tight, nuzzling him. Hartley kissed his wet hair and breathed in his smell, smiling.

“And I’d do it again if I had to,” Hartley promised. “Come to bed with me, beloved, or I’m just going to fuck you on the counter, and neither of us wants that.”

“Yeah, I just cleaned in here,” Cisco groused, gasping when Hartley hefted him up into his arms and carried him into bed, making even more of a mess of the covers, and his boyfriend.


	3. Boats and Birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last fun time together with friends before things take a turn for the worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last fluffy moment for awhile, so savor it!

The next morning, none of Cisco’s concerns mattered, because it was time to turn the accelerator on. Well, _tonight_ it would be. There was going to be a big fuss about it and a party and Cisco hated parties? But it was a company thing, so he figured he had to be civil about it. Hartley had bought him _another_ suit. Now they coordinated—Hartley was wearing his to work already, a heathery-grey suit, English cut as always, and yes, Cisco loved how his ass looked in English cut, but he hated that he knew the damn term in the first place.

“My boyfriend’s a clotheshorse,” he said to Caitlin as she sat on her desk and drank her coffee, grinning.

“We always suffer for the ones we love,” she said. “Besides, he looks handsome.”

“He looks stunning,” Cisco agreed, and even though he was across the room, he could swear Hartley had started to preen. “Hey, Cait?”

“Yeah?”

“Where do we even get the term clotheshorse from? It’s weird.”

“Ooh, good question. Dressage, maybe?”

“Dressage?”

“Oh, it’s a show routine with horses,” Hartley called from across the room. “My mother had friends who did it, but she personally was more involved with dog breeding? That’s how I knew who to call to get ahold of Olga when she was born—“

“God, do you have to yell it from across the room, Edith Wharton?” Caitlin called back, and Cisco burst out laughing. Hartley harrumphed, stalking over to them and sweeping Cisco up into his arms.

“I heard you,” he murmured. “You think I’m handsome?”

“I literally always think you’re handsome, but yes, that suit is beautiful,” Cisco said. “I still prefer you in pajamas. Mostly because that means we’re in bed, and comfortable.”

“The suit’s tailored, it’s got to be comfortable.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, _príncipito.”_

“Mm. Fair point,” Hartley agreed. “I like you in bed too.”

Caitlin gave Cisco a look. He wrinkled his nose. “You hush, like you don’t want to be in bed right now too?”

“We are just kind of killing time until the party,” Caitlin admitted. “You know, Hart? I actually want your opinion on something quick. I’ve been looking at reception hall venues, and I’m not sure what I want to do yet, but—“

“Oh, let me see, I might know some places that we could squeeze you in at,” Hartley promised, sitting next to her on the desk, looking over her shoulder as he scrolled through her phone.

“Please don’t give him ideas, or the next thing you know he’ll be waking me up one morning telling me to hustle, because we’re going to go get married and he already booked the venue.”

“Oh, please. When we get married, you’re going to know,” Hartley promised. A little light kindled in Cisco’s chest, flickering brightly.

“Mm? That right?”

“Dude, hell yes, absolutely, Hartley already ran some specs by me for his ideas? You’re gonna get the moon, Cisco.”

“ _Ronnie,”_ Hartley hissed, Caitlin lifting her head and beaming, letting Ronnie pick her up and hold her, hooking his arms around her hips as she hooked her legs around his. Cisco snorted.

“Honestly, I’m not adverse to you just waking me up and telling me we’re married, let’s go already, the party’s downstairs in the kitchen.”

“Well, St. Patrick’s is booked from birth, but given that I had a wedding lined up there at some point, we can just re-use the date, it’s fine.”

“I really did think _Ouran_ was an exaggeration at some point,” Cisco sighed. “Now I’m not so sure.”

“What, are you not Catholic?”

“Um, are _you?”_

“No, it’s the principle of the thing,” Hartley shrugged. “Why? I can maybe try to rent out the Summer Palace—“

“The—the what?”

“Ooh, that sounds really pretty,” Caitlin said. “Ronnie, Cisco told me I should wear a tiara. Why don’t we go find a palace for the reception?”

“They’re cheaper than you think, especially if we find a real castle,” Hartley said.

“Relatively speaking?”

“No, seriously. About the cost of a townhouse in Manhattan. Something about the upkeep.”

“Please do not buy a palace so we can all get married,” Cisco said. Hartley shrugged, grinning.

“Castle. Very big difference, beloved.”

“Stop? Stop. Oh, god. Caitlin, this is your fault.”

“Double wedding, oh my god,” Ronnie said. “That’d be cool, huh?”

“Nope, no, still hung up on the castle thing—also, Hartley won’t share.”

“I will not.”

“And no castles.”

“I never agreed to that.”

Caitlin grinned, leaning her head on Ronnie’s shoulder. “You know what would be nice? Maybe just a tiny party. And then we go to some really nice English bed and breakfast and just use the bed part for two weeks.”

“Yeah, after all this work, sleeping for two weeks sounds like cool beans,” Ronnie yawned. Caitlin raised an eyebrow.

“If you take that heterosexuality any farther it’s workplace discrimination.”

“Hart.”

“Don’t you ‘Hart’ me, I don’t need to think about them having sex!”

“You hush, do you know any good bed and breakfasts or what?” Caitlin said, Ronnie putting her down so Hartley could grab his phone and scroll through his contacts while she observed.

“Mm. A friend of my mother’s—one of her dog breeder friends, they’re a nice bunch? I don’t think she knows they’re all gay, though. She and her wife own one in Vermont.”

“Isn’t that kind of like, the gay thing to do?”

“Caitlin _Snow_! That is homo _phobic_!”

“No, seriously!” Caitlin protested, and Cisco started laughing as Hartley grinned. “Like, retire to New England with dogs and start breeding?”

“Well, we’re going to have children, the company needs an heir,” Hartley said. Cisco’s stomach did a backflip, fluttering like a butterfly in a hurricane.

“You _are?”_ Caitlin said.

“Yeah, Cisco can have kids, right?” Ronnie said. “Sorry dude, is that weird?”

“No, it’s fine, I can, thank you for asking though,” Cisco admitted. “Jesus, Hart, were you going to tell me?”

“Didn’t you know? Didn’t we agree?”

“What, did you mean like, tomorrow?”

“Were we going to retire to New England with dogs tomorrow?”

“No, but—well—you know, brain stuff. Literal interpretation and. Things?”

“Oh, right, sorry, love you,” Hartley said, squeezing his hand. “Point is, yes, it’s considered the height of upper middle class gaydom to just retire to New England with your obscure dog breed. I’m thinking Great Pyrenees.”

“I love those! There’s one in _Azumanga Daioh_ , and his name is Mr. Tadakichi, and he’s perfect.”

“Great Pyrenees it is.”

“And cats!”

“Maine Coons?”

“Yeah, we’ll just call it the Super Size Me Breeders.”

They snickered, a secret warm joke that flittered between them as Cisco grinned wider. “Sorry, Cait? We were talking bed and breakfasts, right?”

“Yeah, we never really figured out what we’d do for a honeymoon, I’m not big on travel.”

“I wasn’t either, but the boy wants to go to Paris, so we’re going to Paris,” Cisco said.

“Well, once the accelerator turns on and everything’s okay,” Hartley said after a slow pause. “I think we’ve all earned a break.”

“Paris and a honeymoon, sounds like a plan,” Caitlin said. “Now you won’t get bored without me, Cisco.”

“I’d be fine!” Cisco protested.

“You’d be on your N64 all day not checking your phone.”

“How dare you? Sometimes I play my DS.”

Hartley laughed, genuine and low, and it made Cisco smile. “Right, my mistake. You know you’re not bringing any of that to Paris?”

“You’re not taking my DS from me or I’m pre-emptively divorcing you.”

“Is that the portable one?”

“Mm. No N64 I can agree on, though. We’re going to go be cultured citizens and go look at pictures in a fancy museum.”

“God, do you know how many artists my parents know? We’ll be at different gallery openings every night and eat ourselves sick,” Hartley said. “You’re going to love real French pastries.”

“Weren’t you just on my case about my health last night?”

“Burgers and madelines are two wildly different concepts, my love.”

“Wonder what a French burger tastes like?”

“Ronnie, please, or he’ll start reciting the opening of _Pulp Fiction_ from memory.”

“You’re a _jerk!”_ Cisco said, laughing, and the foursome dissolved in laughter together after that. Hartley’s died first, but only because Doctor Wells came in.

“Don’t stop on my account,” he said, giving them all a look. “Caitlin, have you made plans?”

“It looks like a tiny party, bed and breakfast afterwards.”

“Yeah, we’re going to go hang out with gay dogs? I think. I missed something,” Ronnie said. “The three of them are like in their own little reference pool, doc.”

“They are,” Harrison agreed. “I’m glad you’ve got your plans. And Hartley, you’re going to Paris? Leaving us behind?”

Hartley’s stomach hurt. He paused, licked his lips. Cisco stilled beside him.

“Not sure, actually,” he said, his voice light. “If this works, then we’ll have plenty of other projects to work on, surely?”

“Of course,” Harrison said. “We’ll take each day as it comes now. The four of you should really go home early and get ready. Cisco? Did Hartley get you the suit he showed me?”

Hartley flinched, and Cisco didn’t know why. He nodded. “Mmhm. It’s beautiful.”

“It looked wonderful, I can’t wait to see you in it,” he said, and Hartley’s fingers flexed over his desk, white-knuckled, strained. “Your office will be unlocked tonight so you can slip into there if you wish. I know parties aren’t your strong suit, Cisco.”

“Oh, I know, it’s just,” Cisco shook his head. “Thank you, sir. But I don’t want to leave Hartley alone tonight.”

Nothing showed on Hartley’s face. It didn’t have to. His hand came to rest on Cisco’s, and Cisco smiled. Harrison’s face was inscrutable.

“Of course, but the option should be available,” he said. “See you at seven sharp?”

“See you,” Cisco promised, squeezing Hartley’s hand. “C’mon, champ. Let’s go feed the pack so you can help me with those cufflinks and stuff.”

“Of course,” Hartley murmured, seeing nothing, letting Cisco lead him out to their car, Cisco curled up in the seat next to him, humming softly, starting the car up and staring out over the dashboard.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Hartley sighed, tilting his head slightly so Cisco could adjust his glasses for him as he drove. “I’m just excited to help you into your cufflinks.”

The distraction worked—Cisco beamed, fidgeting with his hands, grinning to himself. “Oh, man, me too. I’m so excited, dude. I love how it feels when you do it. Like, I can do it now! I’m good at it now. But I could become, like, a cufflinks master. And I’d probably still want you to do it for me, because, you know, I.”

“I love you too,” Hartley said, and he let the thought carry them both home until they were back in bed, Cisco sprawled out naked under their covers watching Hartley apply cologne, adjusting his half-Windsor knot to a full Windsor for the occasion. Cisco grabbed Hartley’s pillow and pushed his face into it, humming softly.

“The most fun thing about watching you fuss over your clothes is knowing I’m gonna just take them off later,” he announced with a yawn. “Also, are we gonna have to go shopping again before resort season?”

“What? Yes. The issue is that the family beach house is in Rockport, and Massachusetts is still cold this time of year, so I bought us a small villa in the south of France by the ocean,” Hartley said. “That way you could swim, and I could show you how to sail.”

Cisco lifted his head. “Wait, seriously?”

“You asked me to,” Hartley said. “Before. Didn’t you?”

“Hartley, you bought a _house_! And you didn’t tell me?”

“It’s a villa, there’s a difference, it’s a two bedroom-two bathroom little thing with a nice outdoor patio and my mother’s realtor gave me a discount—“

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Cisco said, and then muttered something quiet and complicated in Spanish that went by too fast for Hartley to translate, but sounded profane. “Honestly, Hart.”

“Mostly, it’s just to store the boat,” Hartley said. “It’s got a dock and everything.”

“The house is just for the boat,” Cisco grumbled, mimicking Hartley and trying not to giggle before it hit him. “Wait. Hart. Boat?”

“Yes,” Hartley said, “the boat.”

“You bought a boat?”

“Was I supposed to teach you how to sail without one?”

Cisco paused, considered this. “Oh. Actually, fair point. Didn’t you already have boats, though?”

“Yes, but none that were named after you,” Hartley said.

Cisco squealed and pushed his face into the pillow, laughing, hugging the pillow tight, his toes curling in pleasure and his hair spread out over his shoulders, the pillow, and Hartley smiled and watched his joy bubble out of him from the mirror’s reflection, his chest warm. For those sweet few seconds, he had no worries, no concerns, no memory of the accelerator or his mentor or anything else but Cisco, and Cisco’s happiness.

“You big dumb, dumb,” Cisco began, rolling over in bed, his breasts parting, sinking to his sides. “Hart? I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Hartley said, stroking his fingers through Cisco’s hair. “Could I dress you? I’d like to.”

“Oh, um, yeah sure,” Cisco said, getting up and standing in front of Hartley, laying his head on his shoulder briefly. “Well?”

Hartley hummed, methodical and careful as he pulled Cisco’s briefs up, his fingers sliding over his inner thighs as he adjusted them, before kneeling to help Cisco into small white socks and finally his pants, the creases jutting out like jetties along the shore. Hartley adjusted them around his hips and kissed Cisco’s belly just to hear him laugh, and to feel it bubble up in his tummy, his breath growing in his body.

He did Cisco’s binder for him, Cisco breathing in sharply as he adjusted the clasps.

“When do you want to get surgery?” Hartley asked. “If you do at all, of course.”

“I’d like to, but thanks for asking,” Cisco said as Hartley pulled his undershirt on before taking his dress shirt off the hook and sliding it over Cisco’s soft, golden skin. “And maybe after things settle down some? Because Cait’s getting married and then this whole thing with the accelerator and Paris and stuff—“

“Mm,” Hartley agreed, a noise of assent to assure Cisco he was listening as he finished buttoning his shirt and went for the box in his pocket, where he kept Cisco’s cufflinks.

“—but before we get married,” Cisco finished.

Hartley’s fingers slipped over the cufflinks, the little jewels winking back at him as he fumbled, desperately grasping for his hold. Cisco’s hand reached up and his fingers wound in Hartley’s.

“Well?” he said. “Aren’t you the cufflink master, handsome?”

“I, uh,” Hartley offered in his defense, and he could only think, _Oh, hell, I really wish he hadn’t said that_ after _I put clothes on him. We’ll be late if I rip them all off and have him now._

Still, he considered the option briefly as he knelt to tuck in Cisco’s shirt and fix his belt for him, his hands still trembling just slightly. Hartley looped his belt through and cinched it, leaning in to give him one more quick kiss before straightening up and winding Cisco’s tie around his hand. Cisco made a face.

“Not too tight, please,” he said. “Pressure’s nice, but not when it slides around like a tie. I don’t want it rubbing my neck all night.”

“Of course,” Hartley promised, his knot neat and precise and careful. Cisco tugged it out of place the second Hartley turned his back to get Cisco’s suit jacket, but by that point they were in a rush to go, Cisco sliding into his shoes, stopping to feed the cats as Hartley started the car, and they got _back_ in and went back towards what, later, they would look back on as the worst night of their lives. For now, the only thing on Hartley’s mind as he drove was how Cisco’s cufflinks glimmered just like his eyes in the lights of passing cars, and how lucky he was to know that sight and color.

His luck would not last, but this, neither of them knew.


	4. Meltdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The particle accelerator goes off just as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how to tag this properly, but if public crisis situations might trigger you, don't read this chapter? I don't know if it's a proper trigger, but I don't want to upset anyone with a fic! (Also, there's some blood if you're squeamish, but nothing too graphic, I promise.)

It would be weird later on to have such calm and fun memories for the first hour of the ceremony. It was mostly just Harrison talking and Hartley’s hand in his, or on his back, or fiddling with his hair at first, until the great, brief moment before the switch was pulled. The switch was mostly for show—the accelerator had actually been started up slowly underground, timed to fully activate when the big fancy press-getting switch got yanked.

For a second afterwards, there was nothing. Just a long enough pause to doubt that anything would happen at all, for Cisco’s stomach to plummet, tight with concern. There was that moment where things were still normal, the last memory he would have of things being okay.

And then the accelerator turned on.

He felt the wave of energy before he heard it, saw it; Cisco was knocked to the ground and stunned before he heard the ripple of energy. His head tilted back, he saw it—a ripple of dark energy swirling, crackling, pushing farther and farther outward as the ground started to rumble and shake, Cisco’s handholds slipping.

The world shifted—there was a groaning underneath the ground, like Atlas’ shoulders had finally given out, and the earth collapsed, trembling like Hartley’s fingers over his cufflinks before everything had gone to hell. Cisco tried to scramble to his feet and was knocked back down by another tremor, flat on his back and staring as the sky swirled with energy above him.

He watched, wordless, as a long white mile of crackling energy hit the ground, so close he could feel his skin prickle with the force of its blast. He didn’t see where it had really hit—it didn’t matter. Only one thing mattered. Only one thought was in his head as he pulled himself to his feet, screaming.

“Hart? Cait? _Hartley!”_

There was no response. People were running and screaming and Cisco couldn’t make his brain focus, too much chaos, too many _people_ —a huge rift in the ground had opened and swallowed up someone’s car, so the alarm was going off, adding another flavor of noise for Cisco’s brain to sort through, his head throbbing. He opened his mouth to try calling again, when one noise cut through the rest, making him scramble to his feet on the shaky ground.

“Hart? _Hart!_ ”

Hartley was screaming, high-pitched and horrific, in a way he’d never heard a human being scream; Cisco could remember, once, one of the worst moments of his life—he’d rolled his computer chair over Meowth’s tail, and the _shriek_ had made him cry, petting her for an hour and apologizing, that awful brief moment of noise haunting him for the rest of the day.

Hartley was making a sound like that shriek, if it had been stretched out like dripping, gooey taffy, hanging in the air for what felt like hours. He wouldn’t stop, couldn’t stop, and when Cisco went to pull him up off the ground, he left a puddle of blood behind.

The blood stopped him cold for just a second; he grabbed Hartley by the shoulders, running his hands over his chest, whispering to himself, “Hart? Hart—Hartley? Are you okay? Where’s the injury? Hart—“

Hartley kept screaming, wouldn’t look at Cisco—couldn’t look, Cisco noted, his glasses shattered by the blast—and took one last, shuddering breath, desperately clinging to Cisco before he wiped at his mouth and sighed.

“Oh, no surprise there,” he said to himself—to Cisco?—and sighed, “life is but an idiot, full of sound and fury. Big shocker.”

With that, Hartley threw up, dropping to his knees, his hands over his ears, his fingers digging into his scalp, drawing blood as he puked onto the concrete, sobbing and screaming in turn between the wet, tunneling sounds of bile being pushed from his bruised, raw throat, spattering like a suicide hitting the pavement, soaked and heavy.

Cisco knelt beside him, one hand on his shoulder. He was shaking so hard he couldn’t keep a grip, his fingers slipping over the soft fabric of Hartley’s suit. “Hart? Hart, we have to go—we have to find Caitlin? Caitlin! _Cait!”_

“It’s okay. I’m right here, Cisco.”

Cisco turned around and almost cried in relief, his grin stretching so wide it made his eyes watery, his vision blurry so that he only saw the blood slopped down Caitlin’s front when he stopped smiling. His stomach went from plummeting to his feet to deep into the ground, somewhere inside the accelerator’s groaning, wheezing guts.

“Cait?” Cisco approached her, putting his shaking hands on hers. “Cait? What’s the matter? Are you hurt?”

“Oh, no! I’m fine. It’s just, Ronnie’s dead, so,” Caitlin smiled, her lips and teeth pulled over her face like a burial shroud. “I don’t know whose blood this is. His, probably. Cisco? Has someone called an ambulance?”

Cisco sat down beside the smoking rift in the parking lot, Caitlin humming, running her hands through the blood on her dress, trying to smooth out the wrinkles, with Hartley sobbing and puking beside him, pulling at his ears until he drew blood, and shrugged, looking up at the sky. Smoke had started to hang heavy over the stars—fire, he figured. Fitting. Everything good in his life was in ashes, anyway.

 _Look on the bright side,_ his brain piped up, _volcanic ash makes excellent fertilizer._

“Oh,” Cisco said to no one in particular, “cool beans.”

He took out his phone and called an ambulance, as Caitlin had asked, and sat next to Hartley, lifting his hands from his bleeding ears until Hartley screamed so loud Cisco had to let go, let him bend over, hacking up yellow bile and sobbing in pain, watching Caitlin mumble to herself, “Stupid wrinkles—won’t come out, I just _bought this—_ Cisco? Do you know a good dry cleaners?”

“God,” Cisco said, “I don’t know anything anymore, Caitlin.”

The idea struck him as so silly that he started to laugh, and laugh, and laughed until the ambulance pulled up with its sirens blaring, and Hartley tried to bang his head against the pavement, screaming, so Cisco pulled him into his lap and wrestled with him to keep him away from the ground, still laughing, his fingers slipping on Hartley’s new suit, leaving wet finger tracks of blood along the soft fabric, marring it with his touch.

It was only once he got ahold of Hartley’s tie that he could make him stop, but he’d managed to puke on Cisco somewhere in the struggle, his eyes rolling, his lips bruised, bloodied, like a wild horse with his chest shuddering, sides heaving, his neck straining where Cisco held him by the tie.

They looked each other in the eyes for the first time since Hartley had started to scream, and Hartley furrowed his brow, a flicker of his usual self lighting up at the sight of Cisco, past the agony and fear that clouded his eyes, tightened his jaw, leeched life from his skin. Even the blood that dripped from his ears down his jawline, gathering along his throat, looked washed out.

“Oh,” Hartley said. “You’re right. That pressure is agony, Cisco. Ties are overrated.”

“I dunno,” Cisco said. “You look pretty handsome for a guy who just puked in my lap.”

“Oh, fuck,” Hartley said, blinking slowly, his throat spasming, “dry cleaners. Right. We’ll bring Caitlin’s dress, too. Bulk discount. Maybe—“

The ambulance pulled up next to them and Hartley started to howl again, fighting the paramedics that came to take him and put him in the stretcher, his chest heaving, blood running out of his ears, gathering in the soft pink shells, dripping over his neck, his throat. Someone managed to stick him with a syringe of sedative, holding his arm steady long enough to apply it, and he still fought, his chest heaving as he was loaded into the back of the ambulance, the sirens blaring, Cisco’s temples throbbing with the sight and sound until it pulled away.

Cisco and Caitlin stood together in silence for a few seconds, watching the ambulance’s winding journey until Cisco tucked a bit of hair behind his ears and sighed.

“Oh, he’s going to be so upset later,” Cisco said. “You know how he hates a scene.”

“Right? Hope his parents didn’t see. He’d just, uh, um, d-die of embarrassment, I think!” Caitlin wheezed, a laugh bubbling up from behind blood between her teeth, Ronnie’s last kiss staining her gums cherry-red.

Cisco stared at her. Caitlin stared back, her whole body trembling. Cisco’s jaw twitched, a laugh bubbling up from the worst of him, the back of his brain that responded to crises the way normal people faced a good joke.

 _Well,_ another part of his brain helpfully added, _nothing’s normal anymore, mi alma._

“Hey,” Cisco offered, “at least he’d be in good company.”

Caitlin and Cisco burst out laughing, but underneath all the ambulance sirens, it was indistinguishable from screaming.

…

Cisco wasn’t sure how he’d ended up at the hospital. He was here, in any case, staring out at a television playing the news—it was a broadcast of STAR Labs, and the accelerator burning. Some wonderful receptionist noticed, and seconds later, the channel had changed. It was cartoons now. Not good ones. Maybe this was Boomerang—did hospitals get cable with channels like that? Wow. Anyway, Cisco recognized this episode. It was a Rudy Larriva Looney Tunes cartoon. A bad Roadrunner and Coyote short. There were eleven made with him as director before he was fired from his job and Cisco had to accept that his best friends were dead or destroyed and his boyfriend was in the ICU.

_Fuck you, special interest. Nobody gets to have fun right now._

He had to focus. He had ended up here because a paramedic—he was very pretty, actually, and he had the same tortoiseshell glasses as Hartley, though his weren’t broken, and he wasn’t bleeding and puking in Cisco’s lap—had stopped him and Caitlin and asked them about their injuries.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Caitlin spoke up, still smiling, “it’s just my husband, he’s dead. We’re just waiting for the ceremony to be over so we can all go to the afterparty.”

“Ronnie Raymond,” Cisco filled in, holding Caitlin’s hand, forcing himself to make eye contact with the paramedic, even if he had Hartley’s glasses and Cisco wanted to die. “Did you—um, has anyone seen him?”

“En route, it’s okay, he’s not dead yet,” the paramedic supplied. Cisco groaned in relief and ignored that _yet._

“I don’t think you two are okay to drive,” he said after a pause. “Come on, we’ve got another truck heading to the ER. Come with me?”

“Thank you, I just—“ Cisco grabbed Caitlin’s hand tighter, ignoring how Ronnie’s blood grew tacky between their palms, congealing on his skin. “Cait? Can you walk?”

“Oh, I’m fine, Cisco,” she said, standing up, following after the paramedic, her hand still wound in Cisco’s. “Can I take a look at some of your equipment on the drive? I’m so curious. I’m a biochemist, you see, but my lab is in smithereens right now, so um, I should probably start looking for a new job.”

Cisco stared helplessly. Caitlin climbed into the back with the paramedic and smiled, her free hand resting on her lap.

“I have a Ph.D.—that’s me, Doctor Snow,” she announced, her heels clanging against the metal floor as they drove off. “I could help, maybe?”

“It’s okay,” the paramedic promised, leaning over her and putting a blanket over her shoulders. Cisco finally caught sight of his neatly embroidered nametag—Sam Keaton—and looked up at him.

“Shock is a hell of a drug,” he said. “Which is funny. She’s not usually like this. I guarantee she’s gonna come find you to apologize later.”

Sam laughed. “Don’t worry about it, dude. I’ve seen way worse. She’s reacting just fine. Okay, Doctor Snow? We’re doing everything we can.”

“Oh, it’s too late for that, but thank you,” Caitlin said, leaning her head against the side of the ambulance. “This metal is so cold. It feels nice.”

They rode in silence for awhile, Sam radioing to a few other people before leaning up to confer with his partner. They made a left turn towards the hospital and Cisco started in his seat, scrambling up to his feet.

“Oh my god? Oh my god! Someone has to feed my cats!”

Sam nodded. “You’re right. Do you have anyone you can call to feed them, Cisco?”

“Oh, wow, god no, Hartley’s parents are not allowed to touch my cats, and neither are my parents,” Cisco laughed. “Fuck. Okay. Hartley lives next to Mrs. Poole, she’s nice enough. I—I—“

He stared down at his phone. “Oh. Hartley has her number. And Hartley’s going to die. So I can’t call her. I don’t have his phone. And we’ll have to move out of the house and all my cats will starve because Hartley’s dead and I don’t have a job anymore.”

He put his phone down and he didn’t cry, because his emotions had settled for churning up inside him so quickly and constantly that it turned into a slurry of numbness, but he did curl up and hug himself tight on the bench he was sitting on, staring into the distance.

“I’m tired,” he said. “I think I would’ve rather gone to the party. And I hate parties.”

Sam gave him a blanket too, and Cisco nodded, hugging it around himself. The pressure was nice. It wasn’t like a tie at all. It was good pressure, which was nice because now that he was thinking of ties and Hartley and oh, god, what suit was he going to bury him in?

He’d have to do the tie knot himself, Cisco decided. The coroner couldn’t be trusted to do a full Windsor properly. Or maybe he wouldn’t, so Hartley would get mad about being buried in a sloppy tie knot and come back to haunt him. That would be nice.

“I don’t know who Hartley is, but he’s going to be just fine,” Sam promised. “We’re going to be at the hospital soon. Do you want me to go find out where he is?”

“Please,” Cisco said, “that’d be nice. You have the same glasses as he does. I keep thinking it’s him before I realize, and. Thank you. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Sam said, the van pulling to a stop. “Doctor Snow? Do you want a change of clothes? We have a spare uniform in the front seat if you would be okay wearing it.”

“Oh, it’s fine, I just bought this dress,” Caitlin said, waving him off. “Might as well get some use out of it, since we’re not going to the party.”

“I’ll take care of her,” Cisco promised Sam as the doors opened, because he sure as hell couldn’t take care of Hartley, or Ronnie, or anybody, but at least he could still try with Caitlin. At least—at least they were still here.

…

And that’s how he had ended up here, he figured, sitting in the cracked plastic chair, fiddling with his cufflinks. He wanted to take his suit off. It was sticky and covered in blood and puke, and it made his whole body itch, and he smelled so _bad_ , but if he took his cufflinks off right now, Hartley would die. He just knew this. Maybe that was why Caitlin was still in her dress, sitting next to him with her heels in her hand, like this was just a night on the town that had gotten a little crazy, rather than a waiting room, the cheap linoleum floor tiles astride Death itself.

“Son? Are you okay?”

Cisco jumped, shaking, tensing up in his seat before he looked up into the eyes of the man speaking to him. He sat in the chair next to Cisco, holding his hands up.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, “I’m Detective Joe West. Are you here because of the explosion?”

“Oh. Yes. Um. Sorry,” Cisco said. “Oh, wow. Okay. I’m. Sorry. Am I in trouble? I’m gonna get arrested. For this dumb project. I didn’t even want to do it anymore I just wanted to go to Paris with Hartley and he bought a _house_ that big dumb _idiot_ and now we can’t go _sailing—“_

He started to sniffle, rubbing at his eyes. “Sorry. That must make me sound so bad. Like I’m being selfish. I didn’t mean to. I am going to jail for this. Right? Because the accelerator.”

He shook his head. “Arrest me if you have to, it’s okay, but please leave Caitlin alone. She didn’t do anything bad, and now Ronnie’s dead, and she’s had enough, okay?”

Joe looked at the woman sitting next to Cisco, her hand on her belly, blood drying under her palm, in her nails, and considered for a moment before continuing.

“No one’s going to jail, kiddo,” Joe promised. “I’m just here because my son is too.”

“Oh,” Cisco said. “Is he dying? Like Hartley and Ronnie?”

“I don’t know,” Joe admitted. “The doctors won’t tell me anything, and the whole building’s just crawling with activity right now. Nobody has time to be reassuring.”

“Right,” Cisco agreed. “Um. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Joe sighed, leaning forward on his elbows. “I just know I can’t do anything, and it’s driving me nuts. I think it might be better for everybody if we just went and tried to put ourselves in order for a bit.”

“Oh,” Cisco said. “But I can’t leave Hartley. He’s going to die. I don’t want to not be here when it happens.”

“Nobody’s dying yet, kiddo,” Joe promised again, adjusting his jacket. “Look. The way I see it, if we sit here and think about how things could go wrong, we’re going to drive ourselves crazy.”

“We’re going to put the bad thoughts in the air,” Cisco realized. “If I stay here long enough with bad thoughts I’m going to make everything else bad. Oh, you’re right. We have to leave.”

He realized, dimly, that this must sound stupid to an adult cop, who was by definition supposed to be normal and not-crazy, but somehow he felt its truth—his thoughts were heavy with pain and fear, and the hospital was sagging under the weight of those emotions as it was.

“Makes sense,” Joe said, and loosened up some tight anxiety in Cisco’s chest. “Why don’t we go get a coffee and maybe get some new clothes? I look like I’ve slept a hundred years in these.”

He didn’t mention the puke and blood on Cisco’s suit, or the blood down the front of Caitlin’s dress, and if Cisco hadn’t decided he was okay before that moment, it would have sealed the deal. He nodded.

“The nice paramedic with Hartley’s glasses said we weren’t okay to drive,” Cisco said. “And actually, I’m autistic, and driving is awful, so I don’t have my license. But Caitlin does except she can’t drive. I think she might just run off the road and try to die. I mean—can we ride with you?”

“Of course,” Joe supplied. “Let’s go, Cisco. Coffee’s on me.”

Cisco nodded, helping Caitlin to her feet. “Cait? Can you hear me? We’re going now, so all our bad thoughts and worries don’t poison the hospital. That means they can help Ronnie better. Okay?”

Caitlin nodded in return, and together they went out into the parking lot and climbed into Joe’s car. Caitlin put her head in Cisco’s lap and closed her eyes. Cisco made a soft noise of concern. “Cait, Hartley threw up there.”

“Don’t care,” Caitlin said, turning her head to rest on his thigh. Cisco didn’t push it.

They stopped at a nice, pretty house out in the Central City outskirts—must’ve been Joe’s, Cisco figured, because he got out and unlocked the door and spent a few minutes talking to a beautiful girl in the doorway before he came back out with two shopping bags full of clothes, and the beautiful girl climbing into shotgun.

“Iris West, hi,” she said, “I—I’m so sorry, I’m just kind of freaking out right now—dad said Barry got hurt? Bad?”

“Oh,” Cisco said, “your son, Joe? Yes. I think so. It’s okay. So did my boyfriend and Caitlin’s husband and everything. We’re just going to hang out until things are calm and then we can go see them. So we don’t put any more worry into the hospital.”

“Well,” Iris said, “that’s a smart way to look at it.”

Cisco decided he liked her too, closing his eyes as they drove off. He opened them again when they pulled up in front of a Jitters, and Iris beamed. “Oh, right, good idea—here, c’mon, you guys can go get changed in the staff back room—I’m gonna go put some coffee on? Dad?”

“I’ve got them, you go,” Joe promised, and opened the door for Cisco and Caitlin. He wondered if this was how normal parents did things with their kids and decided he wouldn’t know either way, so maybe it didn’t matter. In any case, Caitlin was staring at the dress in front of her two minutes later in the back room, blinking.

“Can I wear this?” she said. “Ronnie won’t know it’s me. It’s a different dress.”

“He doesn’t know anything about clothes, Cait,” Cisco said. “He’s just going to recognize your eyes and your hair, right?”

“Right,” Caitlin said. “I need—help? With the back, please.”

“Don’t worry, we have the same parts, when you really think about it, so don’t look so embarrassed,” Cisco said, unzipping the dress for her, sliding it off her shoulders. Her stomach was stained with blood; Cisco didn’t say a word, picking up a washcloth and covering it in water from the sink, wiping her clean and throwing the cloth into the garbage. Caitlin nodded, dressing quietly, her hands shaking.

“I mean, it’s really my clothes I’m worried about,” Cisco said, taking everything off and throwing it away, except for his cufflinks. Those he wrapped up neatly in his binder and laid them on the table. “You know? Because Hart’s such a clotheshorse. Dressage horse. He’s gonna make some dumb comment about not wearing a suit and I think—I think I’d give anything to hear it, Caitlin. Just to hear his voice again.”

Caitlin nodded. Cisco took a deep breath as he put on a pair of loose jeans and a big baggy tee shirt with a picture of Kirby, and decided as he smoothed it over his body that maybe if Joe West’s son survived this, he could be a pretty cool friend. Anybody who liked Kirby was okay by him.

“The girl out there,” Caitlin said. “Is this her dress? It’s gotta be. I feel like such a jerk right now taking her stuff.”

“She’s trying to help,” Cisco said. “I think—I think they’re good. Like. Normal families? I think those are supposed to be good. I don’t know. But I think we could go help, so we don’t feel like we’re selfish.”

Caitlin nodded. “I mean. We are Ph.D. level scientists. I think we could work a coffee machine.”

“Considering our lab just blew up, I think we should get used to it,” Cisco said.

They dissolved into laughter, holding each other in the back room of a coffee shop and laughing until Caitlin had stopped crying into Cisco’s chest, and he had to hope Joe West’s son didn’t mind losing one of his tee shirts to grief.

After that, Cisco found himself behind the counter at Jitters, making coffee for the people milling in and out, dazed with grief, people sitting and staring out the window like they were waiting for the newspapers scattered on the table to tell them it was a joke, that the smoke still trailing up into the sky from the remains of STAR Labs was just for show. As he bent over and worked on cleaning the machine, he felt his binder shift in his back pocket, Hartley’s cufflinks burning a hole into his skin. He shuddered and closed his eyes.

“Hey, you’re pretty good at this,” Iris said, standing over his shoulder. “You’ve worked an espresso machine before?”

“My boyfriend has like, six,” Cisco said. “I think he just collects them, but on accident. He’s just, just _awful_ when you get him into a Williams-Sonoma, we have more French ceramic cookware than like, any one person should have? Any two people.”

Iris laughed. “Wow. I don’t think I own any French ceramic cookware, so where do I stand on that spectrum?”

“High-functioning or low-functioning?” Cisco mumbled, until he realized—right, that joke was really only going to be funny to him, but whatever—“I mean, do you want some?”

“I think I’ll be okay, Cisco,” she said, her voice gentle. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Hartley? Hartley Rathaway, of the Central City Rathaways? Because that’s apparently such a common name they have to specify? Or maybe it’s some dumb rich people thing, I don’t know. He’s weird sometimes. Like—like Tamaki Suoh. Have you seen _Ouran?”_

“I have, actually!” Iris said, and Cisco’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Barry, um—back in high school. Barry went to anime club. I went with him, because it was fun, and the school newspaper only met once a month. I, um.”

“Barry’s your brother?”

“Sort of, it’s—it’s complicated, it…” Iris trailed off. “I really love him, and I’m really worried about him. That’s what matters now.”

“Me too,” Cisco said. “He’s got this Kirby shirt. So I think he’s gotta be pretty cool. And he went to anime club, so as long as he’s not into, like, _Sword Art Online_ or whatever, we could be friends?”

Iris smiled, just a little, tears gleaming at the edges of her eyes. “You know what, Cisco? Maybe you could.”

“I’d like that,” he promised. “Maybe you could meet Hartley, too? And go to Williams-Sonoma with him. Better you than me.”

Iris laughed, rubbing at her eyes. “Oh, no. You’ve gotta come with, too, so I know what fancy French cookware we’re buying.”

“Whatever Caitlin put on her wedding registry,” Cisco said. “Because the wedding’s going to be great, Caitlin. Right?”

Caitlin sat behind the counter, coffee steaming in her hands, and didn’t respond. Cisco bit his lip. “Don’t worry. It is. You and Joe are invited now.”

“Thank you, Cisco,” Iris said. “You’re handling this really well, you know?”

“Well,” Cisco shrugged helplessly, “someone has to.”


End file.
